


Anchor

by izukillme



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stress Relief, lil angst, sokka is stressed at work and zuko comforts him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26323339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izukillme/pseuds/izukillme
Summary: Sokka has had a stressful week, and an even worse day. Zuko helps.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 50
Kudos: 260





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Barnable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barnable/gifts).



> from [this](https://thatbarnablebitch.tumblr.com/post/627822841595838464/every-friday-sokka-and-zuko-get-together-for-a) tumblr post. thank you for the idea OP!! i had so much fun writing this <3  
> um warnings for stress and strong language (dick, fuck, etc. no c*nt or any slurs). also hhh i changed the OG post up a bit bc phone convos for this stuff are more relaxing to me personally and i drew upon my stress experiences writing sokka???

Life, Sokka decides, is fucking awful. Life is awful and it hates him and it can _suck his dick._

He scrapes a hand over his face, breathing in slowly. The pressure in his chest has been mounting all day, like it always does just before he has a big meltdown, and he _really_ doesn’t want to come apart at work but it’s looking more and more like that’s going to happen. And great, the fallout for that will be even worse to deal with and now Sokka’s breath is coming in erratic pants and—

His phone rings. Sokka inhales again, pulling it together with the last shreds of energy in his body, and answers without looking at the caller ID.

“Hey, Sokka here—”

“Sokka.” His name sounds warm and comforting, like a soft blanket being wrapped around his tired shoulders, when it falls from those lips. That tongue that Sokka knows so well always rolls his name around like it’s something precious. 

Sokka’s mouth curves up into a small smile at the thought of the person on the other end. The tension in his frame eases a little, and he leans back into his chair with a soft sigh.

“Zuko, babe. Hi.”

“You don’t sound so hot.”

“What are you talking about?” Sokka jokes weakly. “Babe, despite your family being all up about fire, didn’t we already establish that _I’m_ the hot one?”

“Sokka…” Zuko’s voice is flat and no-nonsense. He isn’t screwing around. Sokka drops the pretense of cheer and exhales into the phone. 

“Sorry.”

“You have _nothing_ to be sorry for,” Zuko says firmly. “I want you to take it easy. Come home early. I have the day off anyway, so we can make it a movie afternoon instead of a movie night. That way you can get some sleep too.”

“Sounds good.” Sokka doesn’t bother to hide the exhaustion in his voice this time, but he also doesn’t hide the note of excitement because it _does_ sound good. Cuddling on the couch watching one of Zuko’s psych dramas and having heated discussions over the underlying fascist themes in _Naruto_? Heaven. “I’ll clock out after I finish this up.”

“This?” 

An honest question, filled with curiosity. It’s one of Sokka’s favorite things about Zuko that he takes an active interest in him—most people just look at Sokka and see a happy-go-lucky guy who likes to _give_ love rather than take it. Zuko sees the person behind the smile and takes the trouble to get to know every inch of that person. 

“Yep. It’s a carrier device—” And Sokka happily starts on about his current project, while Zuko listens with soft hums and “Wow,”s every now and then.

“And yeah, that’s about it,” he concludes five minutes later. “I gotta go, babe. I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Love you.” 

“Love you too. Bye.” Sokka makes kissing noises into the microphone and ends the call, a goofy grin on his face. There’s nothing that can cheer him up the way Zuko can.

Unfortunately, that cheer goes right down the drain in the next five minutes.

Sokka’s sketching out a final design for the machine he’s working on. The tiredness is starting to catch up again, the glow from his boyfriend’s call fading a bit. That’s when Teo pokes his head in, wearing a funny smile.

Sokka knows that smile. It’s not a good sign.

“What happened now?” he sighs. Teo frowns and launches into an explanation. Sokka doesn’t get all of it because Teo starts crying at some point, but the gist is this: Apparently the shipping company mixed up the deliveries to them and to some game corporation. Now they have a bunch of plastic poker chips instead of the goddamn _silicon microchips_ that Sokka repeatedly fucking _begged_ the assholes on bent knee to get them by Wednesday—and the best part? It’s going to take another week to get the right shipment, because guess where the other company is? In _Brazil,_ halfway across the world from Sokka’s firm!

 _Life. Hates. Me._ Sokka thinks angrily and picks up the telephone on his desk. He has a _lot_ of calls to make. Predictably, the rest of the afternoon goes somewhat like this.

“Yes, yes, that’s exactly what—no! What the hell? Where did you get _silicone dildos_ from?! You know what, fucking—”

“What do you _mean_ I can’t speak to your CEO?! _We’re his biggest customer—_ redirecting? _Redirecting?!_ ”

“I’ve been trying for the past hour, but haven’t been able to reach anyone from your company. This is Sokka Tudlik from—yeah, I _know,_ there was a mis-shipping, that’s what I’ve been calling about all afternoon, can I speak to someone—” and so on. You can imagine how high his blood pressure spikes when he’s _finally_ finished the last call and gotten things in order. 

_What now? Fucking—probably a lawyer or something because I yelled, I hate this so much—_

Sokka picks it up with a growl, not finishing his thought, and snaps, “Look, whoever the hell you are, I don’t have time for this. I just got off the phone with a bunch of chumps from your company and I don’t want some nosy lawyer snooping around. You guys fucked up, end of story.”

“Well…” comes the voice from the other line, soft and a little worried and very familiar, “I _am_ a lawyer, but I’m not contracted right now… and our relations are more personal?”

Sokka freezes. Guilt wants to well up inside him for snapping at someone he loves so much, but he’s just so _tired,_ too tired to feel anything but a steady stream of irritation.

“It’s been a long day, babe.” he breathes, unable to do much else. A migraine is starting to build behind his right eye, pulsing unwanted warmth into the eyeball. “I’m tired.”

“I hear you, _baiji._ ” The nickname is a nod to both Sokka’s love of everything ocean and Zuko’s Chinese heritage. “I figured it was a bad time—I was just worried when you didn’t come home early like you said, so I called to check in.”

“It’s been a shitty week and an even shittier day,” Sokka says, a bit harsher than he intended. He would regret it if he weren’t too tired to care anymore. “I… I just wanna disappear.”

“Hey, now.” Zuko’s voice is gentle and soothing, but this time does little to calm Sokka’s overworked mind. “I’m here. I’m here for you, ok? Do you want me to come pick you up?” Sokka sniffles, some tears forming in his eyes that are absolutely migraine-induced and caused by nothing else. 

“That sounds good.”

“Okay, _baiji._ Tell ‘em you’re closing up. You’re done for today.”

Sokka hums, too exhausted to do anything but agree. He knows full well that even if he protested, Zuko would storm in and grab him by his collar before dragging him out to rest. His boyfriend is too stubborn for words.

“I’ll see you in twenty,” Zuko says softly. Sokka hums in response, and then the line clicks off.

Twenty minutes and one cleaned desk later, Sokka’s phone buzzes with a text. It’s Zuko, letting him know he’s arrived and asking if he wants him to come up to the office or not.

 _I’ll come down,_ Sokka types, far slower than usual, and stumbles out of his office. The rest is all a haze—his mind is only full of Zuko, and of melting into his boyfriend’s arms to just break down like he can’t do in front of anyone else but Katara.

When he steps out of the elevator, Zuko is there, dressed in pajamas and smiling that small smile that makes his eyes shine like little suns. He steps forward, enfolding Sokka in his arms without a single word. Sokka accepts the comfort as they walk to their tiny car; Zuko has taken his bags when he wasn’t looking, and now he tosses them into the backseat before picking Sokka up, bridal style. Sokka’s too exhausted to protest (shut up. Zuko’s arms are strong, and it’s kind of nice to be carried) so he just lies against his boyfriend’s very firm chest and listens to Zuko’s quick heartbeat.

Zuko bundles Sokka into the passenger seat, straps him in with a seatbelt, and they’re off. The drive goes in silence—Sokka almost dozes off, but then they get home and he has to wake up and _oh,_ he was about to have such a nice dream. He doesn’t complain, though, because Zuko picks him up again and carries him inside, pressing kisses to the top of his head all the while.

When Sokka’s eyes fall on the couch, set up neatly with blankets and popcorn, he almost feels bad for what he’s going to say. Almost.

“Shit, babe,” he breathes. “I don’t have the energy for a deep film discussion tonight—”

Zuko presses a finger to Sokka’s lips and shakes his head, smiling a little.

“I know. Now get comfy.” 

He puts Sokka down on the sofa, wraps him up in a blanket and plops the bowl of popcorn on his lap. Then he kneels in front of the flatscreen and takes out the disc from the blank white case lying on the TV unit, putting it in. He comes back, taking his own blanket, and snuggles up close to Sokka just in time for the credits to roll.

When the screen turns black, a green bear’s footprint appearing on the screen, Sokka’s jaw drops and he presses his hands to his mouth. But that’s not the best part.

The title appears in English, but when the voices emerge, _they’re in Inuktitut._

Sokka could cry. He laughs instead. He laughs and laughs like he hasn’t all week, stress melting into peace as he cuddles into Zuko’s side and points at the screen. The sound of his mother tongue is like music to his ears—after some time, he just starts commenting in Inuktitut, and Zuko’s face is uncomprehending but loving anyway.

“These subs are so awful. That’s not actually what they’re saying at all. Seriously, who subbed this?!” Sokka cries periodically. Zuko brushes his hair out of his eyes and holds him closer as Sokka continues to rant and babble.

“Oh, _god,_ we used to watch this when I was a kid. All the time. Katara loved it so much, she would only stop crying if we put it on. Same with me.” Zuko smiles.

“So does it work when she’s mad?” he asks. Sokka laughs, shaking his head.

“I wish," he snorts. Then his eyes mist over as memories flow into his head, and he says reminiscently, “We’d always have ice-cream with it, too. Vanilla—the best flavour.”

“Wait,” Zuko says with a secretive smile, getting up and heading to the fridge. Sokka whines at the loss of warmth, but is instantly placated when Zuko returns with a tub of ice-cream.

“It’s chocolate,” he explains, snuggling back into Sokka’s side, “but I figured you wouldn’t appreciate me leaving you alone for more than a minute.”

Sokka smiles, hot tears pricking at the backs of his eyeballs, and silently digs into the ice-cream. It tastes like a little piece of heaven.

The rest of the movie passes just like that. Sokka goes through ice-cream and popcorn like mad, and at some point he starts crying for no goddamn reason. It’s not so much the movie as it is the sheer catharsis of this. Cuddling with Zuko and watching TV and hearing how musical his home language sounds when spoken right—he’s needed this all week, perhaps longer, and _god_ does it feel good.

Sokka sighs softly, his cheeks wet as the credits roll. He leans into Zuko, who holds him tightly and kisses his hair, not saying anything. The comfortable silence is warmer than any blanket—but not warmer than his furnace of a boyfriend.

“Thank you,” Sokka whispers in a choked voice, more relaxed than… well, than _ever,_ honestly. Zuko’s hot breath ghosts over his face, and Sokka feels his nose move from side to side as he nuzzles into Sokka’s hair.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” he whispers back. Sokka doesn’t respond, suddenly exhausted—but he _does_ lean his head against Zuko’s shoulder as his eyes slip closed, sleep washing over him like tides over the shore.

His last coherent thought is: _I love you._ He thinks he hears Zuko say it back out loud, but by that time he’s already too far gone, drifting in dreamland.

Whichever hostile sea he drifts into, though, there will always be a warm hand to anchor him and pull him back into happier waters.

**Author's Note:**

> let brown ppl be loved/comforted/not have to be strong always 2020. comments make a blob happy~


End file.
